


Consume

by simplyollie



Series: Nostalgia [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Cannon Compliant Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentioned Drug Addiction, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 00:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyollie/pseuds/simplyollie
Summary: Her lips soft and hesitant against his. His body and her body, and nothing else. Nothing else mattered because it was them, and they somehow made it work.Until they didn't. And then she was gone.





	Consume

**12:36am**

 

Gasping for breath, limbs tangled and swimming in fabric. Sweat mixing with tears as shaking hands fumbled for the light, erratic breathing and heaving chest. The light didn’t help. It didn’t ease his pain. It didn’t change the fact that everything in his nightmare was true. He could’ve saved her, could’ve helped her in some way. Showed her he cared enough for her to be able to trust him with something like this. Maybe, just maybe, if he’d been a better friend, she would’ve confided in him. Let him help her. But he wasn’t a good friend. She didn’t trust him, didn’t tell him.

 

She was dead, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

**1:17am**

 

He clutched at the porcelain bowl, entire frame trembling as he was wracked with heaves. The smell was horrible, it was too hot and he was too sticky, but none of that seemed to matter. None of it seemed to matter as he collapsed in a heap by the toilet, curling himself into a ball. Silent tears trailed down pale and gaunt cheeks, the exhaustion becoming too much. He was past feeling sorry for himself, mind only replaying memories of _her._ Her kind eyes and beautiful smile. Thick raven hair that fell around her shoulders. The feeling of her fingertips brushing against his. Hidden glances and small smiles – smiles reserved just for them. Her hands in his hair. Her lips soft and hesitant against his. His body and her body, and nothing else. Nothing else mattered because it was _them_ , and they somehow made it work.

 

Until they didn’t. And then she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

**2:48am**

 

Scars that danced across perfect, pale skin. Scars that were  littered up and down arms and legs – arms and legs that used to be wrapped in nothing but her. Tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. A sense of hopelessness as the image of her buried flashes through his mind. A razor and a cell phone. The familiar stinging feeling, crimson droplets bubbling to the surface. Droplets growing larger, followed by pain. Blinding and searing pain. Pain that he didn’t want to feel. Pain he knew she wouldn’t want him to feel. Fumbling hands reaching for the cell phone, blood dripping…dripping. A crimson puddle and a dial tone. Erratic breathing followed by fresh tears, the puddle growing steadily. The dial tone stopped. A voice, pulling him back.

 

Hope.

 

* * *

 

 

**3:06am**

 

_“ – eid.”_

 

_“ – hear me?”_

 

_“ – bulance.”_

 

_“ – ay with me.”_

 

_“ – gonna help you.”_

 

_“ – your eyes, kid.”_

 

_“ – eid.”_

 

_“ – encer!”_

 

He smiled slightly as the darkness consumed him. He wasn’t happy, far from it. But she was there. So close he could almost touch her. She was right there, waiting, watching. But he _knew_ and so did she. And as much as it hurt, he turned away. Away from her, and back to the voices of the living.

 

* * *

 

 

**5:59am**

 

Rhythmic beeping, slow and steady. A soft surface beneath his head, a stark contrast from the tiled floor of his bathroom. Stiff fabric brushed up against pale skin, fingers clenching and unclenching the fabric beneath them. Slowly, but surely, hazel eyes open – blinded at first, but steadily adjusting. A dark hand coming into view, resting against his pale skin – the hand was cool, comforting. He leaned into it.

 

_“His fevers gone down.”_

 

_“That’s good.”_

 

The voices were muddled. He wanted to respond, to open his eyes further. All that escaped chapped lips was a pitiful moan. It seemed to be enough.

 

_“Hey, kid, it’s okay. I’m here.”_

 

The hand left his forehead, gripping his own instead. His fingers closed around the hand, a sharp breath escaping his lips as everything came rushing at him like a tidal wave. Suddenly, the tears were back, leaking through tightly clenched eyes, silent sobs shaking his chest.

 

_“‘m sorry, ‘m s-so-sorry.”_

 

The same mantra he repeated to himself each night. Each night he thought of her, and each night he cried himself to sleep.

 

_“Sorry, sorry, I’m s-sorry.”_

 

* * *

 

 

**11:06am**

 

He sat, propped up against multiple pillows, hands fiddling with the bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes refused to meet those sitting beside him.

 

_“Why’d you do it, kid?”_

 

He shook his head. Hand gripping his wrist tightly, pressing into the wound. It hurt. Good. It was supposed to.

 

_“Hey, hey, kid, no don’t do that.”_

 

Once his hand was pulled away the tears came back. Hot, fat tears slipping down porcelain skin.

 

 _“I didn’t mean to,”_ he whispered. _“I don’t wa-want to die – I don’t.”_

 

_“So, why’d you do it?”_

 

He sucked in a deep breath, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. It gave him a sense of security, privacy. Something he knew he wouldn’t have after this.

 

_“I miss her.”_

 

The hand was back in his, gripping it tightly, reassuringly. It did little to help.

 

_“This won’t change anything, you know that.”_

 

_“I thought it would be easier than dilaudid.”_

 

Hazel eyes refused to meet dark chocolate ones, his focus on the small designs etched into the hospital gown, fingers tracing them lightly.

 

_“You called me, what made you change your mind?”_

 

A shrug.

 

_“I know you know why – and they aren’t gonna let you outta here anytime soon if they think you’ll try it again.”_

 

Shame colored his cheeks as he felt more tears swell in his eyes.

 

 _“I–I remember how_ broken _I felt w–when we found out about h–her, a–and I couldn’t do that to you guys – I–I couldn’t.”_

 

The hand was gone from his, now brushing chestnut curls away from tear stained cheeks.

 

_“Get some rest, Pretty Boy, we’ll talk more when you’re discharged.”_

 

A small nod in response, arms circling around his waist in a self hug, burrowing into the scratchy material of the hospital bed. He wasn’t off the hook, he knew that, but he was alive.

 

He knew that’s what she would’ve wanted.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't really like the way this turned out, but it's going to be a series so hopefully the next work will be better.


End file.
